


Not What You Had in Mind

by TheArgentWolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:58:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1545086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArgentWolf/pseuds/TheArgentWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'I need to know that you'll look after him for me.' </p><p>Lydia felt like she'd been punched in the chest, and slowly she put her bag back down, dropping her phone onto the table, and she moved over to Chris, taking a second glass, and pouring another scotch, tossing it down her throat and ignoring the burn.</p><p>"Better make me another one, this could be a long night."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not What You Had in Mind

Lydia should have seen it coming a mile off. With every day the nogitsune was in their lives, she saw the light in Allison's eyes fade a little more. And it made sense - she was trained to be a hunter, trained to expect the worst and how to handle it. She was a leader long before she was ready to be, and while Lydia never told her, she was inspired by her. The Allison that stood before her in those last few weeks was a far cry from the shy, sheltered girl she'd met on her first day at school. And as the days got blacker, so seemed their conversations. Allison still fought with the same fervour as she always had done, but in their quiet moments, Lydia could see the cracks, but they both knew never to address them.

"Lydia, I need you to promise me something." She said, one night that the two were together in one of their homes - which one Lydia couldn't remember, and it felt like it hardly mattered now. "If anything happens--"

"Which it won't, and you need to stop talking about those things." Lydia had smiled, leaning up on her elbow, but Allison's face was still full of anxiety and sadness.

"I'm not saying today, I'm not saying tomorrow, I'm just saying... If it ever does..." Allison had once confided in Lydia that she didn't think she'd live to see old age. Lydia had rolled her eyes at the time, about it being the paranoia of being a huntress. She never wanted to even consider the possibility, while some nights it seemed it was all Allison could think about.

"Allison..." Lydia began, and the other girl shook her head, determined to carry on.

"I need to know that you'll look after him for me."

"You've got an awful lot of 'hims' in your life. Which one - Scott or Isaac?"

"Neither." She sighed, shaking her head. "Scott has his mom, he has Stiles, he has... everyone around him that I know he'd be okay. And... and Isaac'll be okay because I know my dad wouldn't let him be on his own. But my dad..." Allison looked down at her lap, taking a deep breath, and swallowing hard. "He's been different since my mom....y'know. But he won't talk about it. He pushes things further and further under the surface, puts everyone before himself, and I just..." She trailed off, and Lydia rubbed her back, softly. She'd never lost a parent, not really, so she couldn't imagine how hard it was on either of them.

"I'll look after him. I promise." She whispered, kissing the side of Allison's head. "But you have nothing to worry about, because I know you, and you're never going to leave him. Daddy's little girl." Allison smiled, and leaned into Lydia's arms, the topic soon changing to something more trivial, something they both forced out in an attempt to find some normality in everything going on.

\---

At the funeral, Lydia sat in a metal, rickety chair, just staring at the picture on top of the casket. Of a smiling, happy Allison, taken months beforehand, and she didn't know what to think, or feel. There was definite numbness, and had been for weeks since that day, the one she still refused to talk about it. All the while she was throwing herself into funeral arrangements, she ignored her mother's suggestions of counselling. Of just seeing a therapist, just once, to talk it out. But there was nothing to talk out. She was responsible for this. If Allison wasn't there for her, it wouldn't have happened. And paired with the numbness and guilt, there was anger. Because she sat on the chairs relatively alone. Scott and Melissa were one side of her, Stiles the other, Kira sitting hesitantly a row behind, not wanting to interfere - Allison was theirs, not her's, Lydia had thought once bitterly. But Chris and Isaac had left the day after it happened, Chris' only message to Lydia being to make the arrangements. 

She bit her tongue the whole way through the service, through the burial, because if she didn't, she'd scream. Not a banshee scream, but one of pure anguish and rage. That she had to bury her best friend, the one whose death she caused, and her own father couldn't get past his grief for two seconds to be there to say goodbye.

And after the service, even as Melissa was putting a reassuring hand on her arm, inviting her back to the McCall house for the wake, she said nothing, just pushed away from the group and drove.

\---

Lydia stared at her phone as it finally stopped ringing, the number of missed calls totalling to over fifty by now. She stared up at Allison's ceiling, lying on Allison's bed, and closed her eyes, trying to breathe in anything familiar that was still left. The pillow still smelt of the floral perfume she'd bought in Paris, her favourite, and it was the one thing Lydia clung to. The closet doors were open so she could glance in at any given moment and see her clothes hanging there, waiting for her to come back. Lydia felt her heart ache knowing that she wouldn't, and looked away again, staring at the window. She'd put the codes up on the apartment and locked the windows and doors, not wanting the werewolves to get in. She was about to continue staring up at the ceiling again, when there was the sound of a key turning in the lock, and quickly she got to her feet, instinctively moving to Allison's closet, where she knew her weapons were stowed away at the back. Her grip found one of her ring daggers, and she grabbed it in her hand, fully prepared to use it if she had to - being around Allison when she was training was like learning through osmosis, so she knew what to do. She was about to leave the room, when instead the door was pushed open, and both people froze in the door.

"... Get out of her room." Chris' voice was coarse, his glare fixed, and Lydia just stared at him. The rage she'd felt at the funeral returned, and she placed the ring dagger on the bed, and picked up her phone from the table.

"And hello to you, too." Her tone was just as thick and icy, and for once, she couldn't even force a smile. "How was France? Good trip?"

"I'd like it if you'd leave, Lydia." Was his only response, only serving to make Lydia even more angry.

"Because you know, I'd really hope that it was a good trip. Since it was obviously an important enough trip to miss your daughter's funeral." Lydia's tone was even more clipped than before, if possible, and she could feel her tears welling up inside her. Chris just stared at her, but the anger in his eyes seemed to falter a little.

"Thank you for your time and effort, but I would really like you to go, now."

"Because, you know, I can forgive Isaac for missing it, because she was just screwing him, and it's not like she loved him the way she loved Scott, but her own father couldn't even be bothered to say goodbye to her? I mean come on, let's hope that heaven isn't a real thing because I really wouldn't want her looking down and seeing that you--" Lydia's last words were left in a gasp as Chris grabbed onto her upper arms, and pushed her against the wall, every muscle in her body tensing up in fear.

"You try, just  _try,_ to bury your sister, your spouse, and your child all in one year. You try and go to each and every one of their funerals being strong for other people. You  _try_ and accept that this is something that never needed to happen, to face her knowing that it shouldn't have happened, and you tell me if you wouldn't be getting the hell out of town on the first available flight." He let go of Lydia, seeming to be more angry at himself for the outburst than upset, and he moved to the kitchen, pulling a bottle of scotch out the cupboard, and placing it on the table. "Now, as I said, I'd appreciate it if you'd go. I have things to do." Lydia moved to the door, her hand resting on the door handle, with every intention of going somewhere. Anywhere. Maybe to a club to flirt her way in, and find someone to sleep with, not because she wanted to, but because she wanted to keep feeling numb.

_I need to know that you'll look after him for me._

Lydia felt like she'd been punched in the chest, and slowly she put her bag back down, dropping her phone onto the table, and she moved over to Chris, taking a second glass, and pouring another scotch, tossing it down her throat and ignoring the burn.

"Better make me another one, this could be a long night."

\---

It took a week, but slowly Chris and Lydia found a routine around each other. Chris had made Lydia call her parents and her friends, to let them know that she was okay, and that she didn't feel up to talking right now. And in return, Chris let her take the couch. He'd initially offered his own bed, but after Lydia explained that Allison would never forgive her if she kicked him out of the bed, Chris dropped the subject all together. It was a habit Lydia had seen, and one that Allison had warned her of -  _He pushes things further and further under the surface, puts everyone before himself -_ and Lydia still wasn't sure how to address the subject, if every time she tried, he changed it again.

"So... Are you going to stay in the apartment?" Lydia asked, topping up Chris' drink, and pouring herself one, knowing the older man wouldn't stop her - he hadn't so far.

"It's on a six month lease - financially, it makes more sense to stay until the end of the lease, and then find somewhere else to go."

"Do you think you'll stay in Beacon Hills?"

"It's the right thing to do."

"Because it's what she would've wanted?" Lydia suggested, and she watched Chris pause, trying to find a way of answering. He took a gulp of his drink, wiping his mouth afterwards.

"With the active beacon here, we don't know what else is coming. And there's other threats as well, it would be careless of me to drop everything and retire."

"You retired once before without knowing the things that were going on." Lydia shrugged, trying to push him - it had been the only time she'd got an emotional response from him so far. "What's the difference now?"

"I'm going to get a beer." Chris replied, finishing his drink, and getting up and moving to the kitchen - the refrigerator was nearly empty, aside from a pasta dish that Melissa had brought over, and he thought sourly that he should probably go out to get groceries soon. Grabbing the beer, he turned around to find that Lydia had followed him into the kitchen, and she was standing in front of him. "Yes?" He asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Not talking about her isn't going to bring her back, Chris." She spoke, firmly, snatching the beer from his hands. "Going to France didn't bring her back, yelling at me didn't bring her back, but pretending that everything is okay? Blocking out every mention of her name? That's going to make the memory of her disappear even faster."

"Says the girl who hasn't left my apartment in weeks. Who hasn't even seen her friends since the funeral." Retorted Chris, and it was Lydia's turn this time to look crestfallen. "Who are you really here for, Lydia? For me, or for yourself?"

"I'm here for her." She said, swallowing hard.

"Well she isn't here, in case you haven't noticed."

"I know. But it's what I promised her."

"To hang around her apartment like a leech?"

"No, to take care of you, because she's right - you're useless at taking care of your mental health yourself." Lydia snapped, tears finally falling from her eyes, and she clenched her teeth. "Because I owe her. Because she was my best friend, and I got her killed. So if I don't do this? If I don't take care of you? I'm letting her down. Again." Lydia let out a sob, one she'd been holding back for weeks, and she pressed herself into Chris' chest, forcing herself into his arms, and she screamed and sobbed into his shoulder. A memory jolted through Chris, of Allison the night her mother died, and instinctively, he wrapped his arms tightly around Lydia, not wanting to let her go. Tears were falling from his own eyes, holding his breath so he didn't sob as well, and for the longest time, neither of them said anything. Lydia crying, and Chris shushing her gently, his hands stroking her hair softly, soothing her. 

\---

After the outburst, the tension in the apartment seemed to relax a little. Chris opened the door to Allison's room, still not wanting Lydia to sleep on the bed, but the door to her room being opened meant the subject of his daughter was open, too. Her name was dropped casually into conversations, both talking about memories they had of her. Chris learning what she was like in school, while Lydia learnt more of Allison's childhood and her time with her parents. It was more healing than either of them admitted, but the subject of that night was still a no-go area. Chris encouraged Lydia to go back to school, even if it was impossible for her to be behind, with assurances that he'd take her there, and pick her up afterwards. He'd be there, and that normality was what Allison would encourage. His time in France had helped him, because he'd been able to help Isaac, but he hadn't realised at the time that he was needed just as much in town. That his little girl's best friend was as broken as anyone else, even if she didn't admit it.

After Lydia was finished with her homework, Chris walked over to her, a glass of brandy in his hand, and he placed it in front of her, a slight smile on his face.

"For a job well done." He offered, sitting next to her, and opening the book on the coffee table - a battered bestiary, because with whispers of a werejaguar in town, and Derek Hale still missing, he knew he'd have to get back to work sooner rather than later - Lydia was right, that it was something Allison would want.

"Why, thank you very much." Lydia smiled, downing the glass, and looking at him expectantly. "And do I get another one?"

"I'm not encouraging the underaged drinking of a seventeen year old." He laughed, taking the glass from her, and moving it away. After that, they were silent for a while, each reading their respective books - the TV was a noise to them both still, preferring the silence to anything else.

"It'll be two months next week." Chris said at last, still not looking away from his book.

"I know." Said Lydia, her voice thick, and Chris glanced over at her, seeing her staring at the book, but not actually reading it. Closing the bestiary, he closed her book as well, forcing Lydia to look at him.

"You aren't responsible for what happened to her." He said, calmly, taking a deep breath himself. "Allison was just like her mother - a confident leader, and one who wouldn't listen to anyone if she was passionate about something. Stubborn, too. I..." He paused, before shaking his head, and Lydia wondered if he knew just how many mannerisms Allison had taken from him. "I spoke to her before she went to find you. I tried to stop her and make her wait for me, but she wouldn't listen.  _Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent  pas se protéger eux même._"

"We protect those who cannot protect themselves, I know." Said Lydia, looking away.

"She needed to protect you, because you're important to her. The same reason her mother died - because she thought she had to protect her. And I'm sure if I asked either of them, neither would have regrets for what they did. So if I'm not allowed to feel guilty for not getting to her in time, then you're not allowed to feel guilty for her wanting to protect you. Understand?" Lydia's eyes remained downcast, but she nodded. Sighing, Chris wrapped an arm around Lydia's shoulders, rubbing the furthest from him, gently. Lydia pulled her legs up to her chest, and leant on him, closing her eyes at the embrace. The apartment hadn't smelt like Allison in weeks, but the musk of Chris Argent had replaced it, and it felt just as familiar. Just as comforting.  _He_ was just as comforting.

Lifting her head, Lydia kissed Chris softly on the lips, a hand moving up to cup his cheek, feeling the roughness of his beard in her hand. She felt him kissing back, before he pulled away, and looked at her.

"Lydia, we can't."

"Why not?" She asked, her voice barely a whisper. She pressed her lips to his again, closing her eyes, and his resistance took a little longer this time.

"It's wrong, you're seventeen, and--"

"And I want to do this. And I think you do, too." She didn't kiss him again, just rested her forehead against his, watching him closely, waiting for him to make a move. If he didn't, she'd forget this happened at all, with no awkwardness - she'd just misread the signs, it wasn't a big deal. But it was a beat later that he was pressing his lips to hers instead, slipping his tongue softly into her mouth, gripping onto her.

\---

Hours later, they were lying together in his bed, and while Lydia wasn't normally one to cuddle after sex, this time felt different. Her head rested in on his shoulder, her body turned towards him, and an arm was wrapped around his waist, and she felt him pressing tired butterfly kisses to her head.

"This is probably not what Allison had in mind when she asked you to take care of me." He said softly, his arm rubbing up and down her's. Lydia smiled, and she leant up slightly to kiss him again, stroking his cheek with her thumb.

"Maybe not. But would you want me taking care of you any other way?" She asked, and he chuckled, lowly.

"Right now, I'm thinking not."

"That's what I thought." Lydia didn't know if this was a forever thing, or just a fling, but right now, it was what she needed. Lying back down, her head on his chest, she fell asleep listening to Chris' gentle heartbeat.


End file.
